


hajime hinata cries

by eggi



Category: Super Dangan Ronpa 2
Genre: Angst and Feels, Background Nidai Nekomaru, Background Tanaka Gundham, Hinata Hajime-centric, My First Fanfic, Self-Esteem Issues, Spoilers, Tired Hinata Hajime, kinnie moment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:53:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27643730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggi/pseuds/eggi
Summary: that is all. hajime hinata cries.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 45





	hajime hinata cries

hinata was tired. he was so, so tired. he wasn’t just upset over gundham and nekomaru’s deaths. he was mourning them, obviously, but he was so tired, in a sense he barely knew how to explain his own emotions himself. 

however, he wasn’t necessarily physically tired to such an extent - as much as he wanted to sleep to avoid his problems, it didn’t help. it never did. it just made him deal with them full force after his nap, and he doesn’t think he’d be able to deal with it any more effectively than he is right now.

if anything, his issues were on the other side of the spectrum. the words komaeda had said to him… could he even believe them? (he knew deep down that it was very reasonable, and yes, it had a very high percent chance of being real; because come on, really?) 

despite this hesitation and initial worry, it soon enveloped his brain with a blanket of fear. oh, god - what if he was correct? what if he was saying the truth? sure, komaeda went on insane tangents, but he was smart. he was smart and sensible and he would never speak that way to someone he respected. (in this case, hinata supposed he was someone he used to respect. it was obvious, really. it drives another dagger through his heart anyways.) 

hinata tosses and turns in his bed, nagito’s words echoing, trailing after him despite how vigorously he tried to cover his ears, think about the trial (it made him gag.) or anything else.

it didn’t help. his voice stayed, and it haunted him, tormented him, left the ends of the hair on his neck standing up, and maybe it was how hungry he was previously (he couldn’t bring himself to eat after the deduction that gundham and nekomaru made that sacrifice so that they were able to eat) that made it almost feel nagito was breathing down his neck. 

hinata smiles wryly. he felt insane. the words komaeda said were to be taken with a grain of salt. everyone on the island knew that, as he was shown to be handled with caution as komaeda’s form doubled over, a shiver-inducing wheeze echoing through the trial room with those mad eyes of his as he waxed poetry about hope. about the talented, about the ultimates. 

hinata remembered it as if it was yesterday. He missed the ‘old’ komaeda. the komaeda he knew and the one who greeted him, woke him up on the beach, the kind komaeda. unless that was komaeda all along? he didn’t want to dwell on it any longer. he had already made his entrance once, and he didn’t want to remember it more than that time.

komaeda shouldn’t get to him easily - he helped the trial, he went through worse and he knew that. he watched his friends die, get executed, inspected the dead bodies he knew one of his friends had killed. he knew he was strong. (were the murders getting to him?) he was not, as nagito said, useless. but it stung. It stung and hurt and prodded at his heart until he couldn’t take it.

the thoughts - the words he was actively trying to avoid, trying to deny, caught up with him. he was a reserve, an untalented useless reserve, a leech off the main course. the very thing komaeda seemed to express a deeply laced hatred to. 

it didn’t help that he was so boring, too. he was so goddamn boring. hinata looked bland. he was average at everything, god, why didn’t he see it sooner? he was average to the point that any person would be disappointed or embarrassed to be him. 

he wasn’t anything special. he was mediocre in looks, not even a recognizable face in the crowd, and he could probably be mistaken for a businessman working away at a cubicle. he had no talent here, either, even though he tried so hard to remember, to believe he had a talent, to think he had a reason for being there, he was truly nothing but a nobody clutching onto that naive hope. 

he knew it was too good to be true. too good that he was with these eccentric talented people that were - dare he call them friends anymore? hinata was repulsive. they were talented, interesting, special- everything hinata was not. everything hinata aspired to be. he’d never get there. he wasn’t good enough. ah, wait, no, that sounded too presumptuous. he was good at a few things (right?), he was a good person. he just was never talented enough. 

he worked hard. he worked so damn hard but it wasn’t enough. hinata suddenly feels nauseous that he had made nagito out to be trash when really- no. no, hinata couldn’t be swayed by his words. he wasn’t ready to confront that now, maybe that one redeeming quality that he was a ‘good person’ didn’t exist after all, huh? 

he had nanami, right? nanami was his friend, she didn’t care if he was untalented or not… but he didn’t deserve that kindness, either. he wasn’t- he wasn’t good enough for any of them, was he? was he good enough? would he ever be good enough? why was he never enough, why could he never be good, why was he so untalented, why is he so bland, whywhywhywhy- 

he could never be who he wanted to be. he could never be talented. he could never be as amazing as he thought he could be. he naively thought he was talented- that he was an ultimate- but he wasn’t! he wasn’t. he wasn't even close. 

the realization broke him more. god, he was so pathetic. he could be killed and it wouldn’t be a big deal. he was so easily replaceable. a reserve, no talent at all. nothing distinguishing him from another average teenager. he could be killed. on this island, where the stakes were raised and they were forced to turn against one another. it was only about time he were to be killed.

hinata’s throat feels dry, and he sits up, suddenly swayed by dizziness he didn’t realize was there. he needed to calm himself, take a breath of fresh air. he needed to get out of this cabin where the walls felt suffocating, the cabin where he felt trapped, the bare walls with no decoration serving to tell him more about how average and painfully boring he was. 

he really had no personality or things he liked that he could take pictures of (ah... it reminded him too much of mahiru. nevermind)? no plants? no achievements? no personal flare? it felt less like his cabin and more like a guest room, now that he gave it the thought. 

he was so close to leaving, as well. get the breath of fresh air he deserved (he didn’t deserve that. did he? did he really deserve it or not? he wasn’t self deprecating. he wasn’t like Komaeda.) and greatly needed. 

however, the thought alone of running into someone stopped him. he couldn't bear staring at them after having this realization. he’d probably burst into tears, and hajime hinata is not one to cry. he was not one to cry over such - small things. small things that didn’t matter. (because, really, he knew his friends would love him, but his brain refused to let him realize that.) 

if anyone asked if he cried, he wouldn't say anything. if anyone said they heard someone crying, it wasn’t him. they had no proof that he had clutched into his pillow like a lifeline and sobbed into it like a child. they had no vouching nor evidence that he cried until his voice was raspy and his eyes were red and puffy. they couldn’t prove a single thing. 

and if anyone were to barge in then and now and saw the damp spot on his pillow case, he’d kill them. (no, wait. no. not right after a trial.) when hajime couldn’t physically cry anymore, he fell onto his back on top of his blanket, staring at the bumps on his ceiling.

he smiles oddly (he hated his smile, it was so crooked and awkward) at the ceiling. he was just like the bumps, honestly. nothing special about them, barely anything that could be of use to have them there. none of them could be individually identified unless he were marked, or something. if he had something interesting about him, something that made him talented. 

he was a liar. an actor, a fake. someone who masqueraded to be talented among a group of those he trusted, those he confided in. the ones that killed one another to these cruel motives. the ones that comforted each other, because he knew for damn sure that all the trials hurt them all. he knew he wasn’t the only one suffering.

so - so why did he want to be so selfish now? why did he want someone to hug him, someone to hug, someone to tell him that he wasn’t useless, and he had potential despite being an average nobody even if he knew there was - quite literally - no hope left in his skill?

ah.. komaeda, too. he treated komaeda so, so terribly. why? because he was angry? because he was stressed? frustrated? upset that this was happening? scared of what komaeda was capable of? scared of how unhinged komaeda seemed to be? it hurt even more when it struck him that komaeda let him treat him terribly because he thought he was an ultimate, too. 

the irony of it all makes him snort, despite how hurt he felt, how utterly pathetic his attempt was to hide it. hide how upset he was at himself. upset he could really be nothing more than hajime hinata. someone who had nothing good going for him. someone who treated komaeda as if he were an abomination walking amongst them.

he hates this island. he wants so badly to get off, much more than the deep rooted hatred he had felt before, because now, next to the fear and hollow feeling in his chest, the realization none of his friends he knew and cherished were coming back- was the realization he was opposite of what he wanted to be. 

it left a bitter taste in his mouth. he was everything he hated. he laughs a bit at the realization. hajime hinata was a faceless nobody. he couldn’t seem to care anymore if he were to be killed here or not anymore as his eyes finally, finally close, dragging his uneasy heart under to plummet into a restless sleep. 

at least the problems were gone for now. he would accept that. anything to avoid the dawning reality of it all even if it were for a brief moment.

**Author's Note:**

> waaah this is my first fic i've made!!! pls be gentle HSLKDFBASLKCAJLKSDL K  
> this is rlly just a kinnie momenet BAHAHAHAH - felt like writing somethinga nd decided on this ig???? so take this monstrosity  
> didn't really read it over/edit it, so if there are any mistakes, my apologies 
> 
> i hope u enjoyed, thanks for reading ? ALSKFSDFLAKJ


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